Tales of Starfleet
Montage
The Corps is Mother
by Phillip Barlow
(p.barlow@ic.ac.uk)

The men of Alpha Platoon, Charlie Company, Draft 1181, were lined up, one to each bunk, in the barrack room, stripped of everything except their shorts, their hair shaved to the scalp. A lone figure stalked the space in the middle of the room.

"My name is Gunnery Sergeant Pembry. You people are nothing! In fact, you are less than nothing! You make nothing feel like it's got something to crow about! Let me make it clear from the word go. If I am in the room, you do not talk to me. You are too low to warrant my attention. If I speak to you, the first and last words I expect out of your mouths is 'sir'. Are we clear?"

"Sir, yes sir."

"Bullshit, I can't hear you."

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"Good. Now, what the fuck do we got here? What's your name maggot?"

"Sir, Arthur T. Wallingham sir."

"What kinda shit name is 'Arthur T. Wallingham'? Your momma and daddy must've really hated your guts to name you Arthur. Do you like your name, Arthur?"

"Sir, it's my name sir!"

"Is that an answer? Did I fucking ask you that? I'm pretty sure I didn't. I asked if you liked your shit ass name!"

"Sir, I like it just fine sir!"

"Too fucking slow asswipe. If you wanna get on my good side, you'd best get a lot faster. And I ain't fucking calling you 'Wallingham'. From now on, you're Private Swifty. Private Swifty, got it?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Pembry moved to the next bunk.

"What's this? Andorian eh? Fought alongside a lot of Andorians. Strong, fast, cunning. Great warriors, Andorians are. You a great warrior boy?"

"Sir, not yet sir!"

"Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Sir, I hope you'll teach me to be a great warrior sir!"

"Well, looks like we got ourselves a real ass kisser. I don't like ass kissers. Means they're fucking yellow. Bet you got a thick streak of yellow up the middle of your back, don't ya boy?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"Bullshit! In fact, you shouldn't even be blue. You should be yellow all over you maggot!"

"Sir, no sir!"

"Fucking gutless yellow belly. Prove to me you ain't a coward." The Andorian took a swing.

"That's it! Good boy. Guess you ain't a yellow belly after all. Stand tall Private Proof. Just remember, you try that again, and it'll mean 30 days in the stockade." He moved on again. "Alright boy, who the fuck are you?"

"Sir, Private Wilson Coolidge sir!"

"Coolidge? I knew a Butch Coolidge once. Damn fine marine. You know him?"

"Sir, he's my father sir."

"That so? Daddy got you in, did he?"

"Sir, no sir."

"Bullshit! You're so much of a fucking wuss, you had to get you daddy to get you in to my beloved corps, didn't you!?"

"SIR, NO SIR!"

"Show me your war face."

"Sir?"

"Sir what?"

"Sir, I don't understand sir!"

"Your war face! You're supposed to be a fucking killer! Show me your war face!"

"Aaaah!!!"

"That's supposed to be a war face? I've seen my two-year old grandson make a scarier face than that. SHOW ME YOUR WAR FACE!"

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!"

"Boy, we ain't leaving until I see a fucking war face! Think about me coming into your home and fucking your girlfriend. Think what you're gonna do to me when you see me fucking boning her. NOW SHOW ME YOUR WAR FACE!"

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Better. Maybe I'll be able to make a marine out of you yet. We gotta drop a few kilos off you first. Private Slim, that's you. Alright, who's next. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GRINNING AT!"

Gravett Island, in the South Pacific. Location of the Infantry Basic Training Centre on Earth. For the phoney tough, a place that proves toughness is nothing to do with talk. For the maybe brave, a place that proves they can be. And for me? That's something that'll have to wait and see. Especially here, in the United Federation Marine Corps garrison. The island is divided into two, with 2/3 given to the Military. The remaining third is occupied by the UFMC, and the two could not be more different. Crossing the fence into 'Marine Country' is like entering a different world. For the ordinary soldier, there is much to occupy them when not training, drilling or in class. For us, there is nothing but. The only time we have for ourselves is during chow, or after lights out. All day, every day, we run, march, drill, practice, take classes. When we're not doing that, we clean everything. We know we won't get any real free time until the twelfth week of training, but still, it is hard. I miss my parents, and my brothers and sisters. But mostly I miss Olivia. I'm glad that she decided to go to medical school instead of doing something like this. Not that I don't think she'd be up to it. But doing this spoils a person. I know, because I can feel it happening to me. She is too precious to me as she is to be spoiled in the way this thing does. I just hope that the me she loves is still here once Pembry is finished with us.

"This is your primary kit list. You will be issued with precisely what is on it, and get nothing more until you leave here, so look after it. This is to teach you that, once you get into the field, there won't be a quartermaster just around the corner to nip into if you get a hole in your sock. Alright, first man, move!"

Item	Quantity
Rucksack	1
Webbing, Type 30	1
Groundsheet, Waterproof	1
Sleeping Bag	1
Power Cell Recharger	1
Entrenching Tool	1
Mess Tin	1
Canteen	1
Knife, Fork, Spoon	1 each
Soap	1
T-Shirts, White	3
T-Shirts, Green	3
Underwear, White	3
Underwear, Green	3
Socks, Green	6 pairs
Uniform Undershirt	3
Uniform Trousers	2
Uniform Tunic	2
Dress Trousers	1
Dress Tunic	1
Boots, Waterproof Combat	1 pair
Boots, Dress	1 pair
Towels, Green	3
Combat Suit	2
Lightweight Body Armour, Mk1A	1
HK S-944 Type IIIA Assault Rifle	1
Colt Series 3091 Type II Phaser	1
Bayonet	1

The recruits were lined up at the entrance of the Quartermaster's stores. Running the length of the building was a single, long counter, divided into segments by doorways separating various types of kit. As the recruit went down the line, more and more items on the list would be piled into his arms. After each man had collected his kit, he went back to the barrack room to lay it all out for inspection.

"Well done ladies. Now you're finally starting to look like marines. I think I'm actually starting to feel some pride in you. Then again, it may be the beef stew I had for supper." The line of men was each holding his brand new phaser rifle at the port position. Behind each man, like some kind of sentinel, stood his complete body armour, while the rest of his kit was either hung in his locker or laid out on his bunk. "Alright, get all that shit squared away. Lights out in 30 minutes."

"This is your rifle. It is now your life. You will eat with your rifle, and you will sleep with your rifle. You will treat it like you would treat a girl. You will give it a girl's name, because ladies, this is the only pussy you're going to get. The days of high school, of fingering little Mary through her pink panties, are over. From now on, you are a killer. There are others out there who want to kill you, but, with care and training, you and your rifle will not let them." He reached the end of the barrack room. "Prepare to mount." The recruits stood ready to jump onto their bunks. "MOUNT!" As one, they leapt onto their bunks, laying flat on their backs at attention. "PORT ARMS!" They brought their rifles to the port position. "Pray!"

"This is my rifle. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will. Before God I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviours of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy...but peace. Amen."

* * * * *

The recruits were lined up in the barrack room, fully kitted out - they had on full-up body armour for the first time, over which was the one-piece camouflage suit. Each man had his fully laden rucksack and webbing on, and his rifle ready.

"This is your first full-up exercise in the field. This platoon, 1181-Charlie-Alpha, and platoon 1181-Charlie-Delta, have the task of attacking and taking the position held by 1181-Charlie-Beta and 1181-Charlie-Omega. You'll be dropped into position by shuttle. You will have six days to complete the task and get back to the drop-off point to be picked up. If you ain't there, tough. Once dropped-off, you won't be able to contact anybody outside the exercise. If one of you is badly injured, we'll know, and take the appropriate action. Otherwise, you're on your own. Are we clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Bullshit, I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair!"

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"Alright then. On the command 'fall in', form up in two ranks in the centre of the room. FALL IN!" The men formed up in two ranks. "Shoulder arms! Moving off in double time, quick march!"

* * * * *

We've been out here for four days. It's been raining the whole time. Now, I'm sitting in a foxhole, covered by a groundsheet, waiting for the big push tomorrow. It's times like this I wonder why the hell I'm doing this. What am I getting out of this experience? I know that this is basic training, and it's supposed to be hard, and that after our passing out I'll be given a posting and everything will look fine, but even so, what in God's name am I doing here? Once this is finished, our basic training will be over - all there is left are the qualification tests. We'll have a week to prepare for them, during which we'll be let out of the marine compound. I hope John has news of Olivia when I meet him. Yes, Reagan is my cousin and I love her, but that doesn't mean I trust her. Then again, why should I worry? Olivia is smart enough not to get involved with any of Reagan's 'eccentricities'.

Pemby told us before we left that the top 5% of the platoon will have their choice of assignment - infantry, armour, artillery, engineers, so he advised us to think about it, as what we choose now will probably end up as what we do for the rest of our time in the corps and after. I know that's what happened with Dad, but I'm not sure I'll be in the corps that long. All I want to do at the moment is make sure that the people I love are proud of me. Right now, that's all there is.

* * * * *

"Spider, 1/300. Infantry."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Jimbo, 1/300. Infantry."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Archer, 2/181. Engineers."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"That just leaves the four of you that came top - Cowboy, 3/116. Armour."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Swifty. 2/131. Infantry."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Proof. 1/S1A. Stars and Stripes. You gotta be shitting me! Stars and fucking Stripes!? Do you think you're some kind of fucking writer? You're supposed to be a killer!"

"Sir, I think the folks back home deserve to hear about the bravery of the corps first hand. Who better to tell them than a marine sir?"

"Good point. Tell it like it is boy."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Slim, 2/131. Infantry. No more ambition than that boy? What'd Daddy say?"

"Sir, I hope he'd be proud of me whatever I do sir!"

"Alright. Now, you people have ceased to be nothing. Now, you are marines, and you will always be marines, for the rest of your lives. You may have heard of a planet called Nitevma Uohst, where there is a war going on. Some of you will be going to Nitevma Uohst. Some of you won't come back. Those that don't come home will be mourned, but as well as mourning, we will rejoice, because you will have done good work, helping to preserve the freedom we hold dear. Tomorrow, you will march across the square, your families watching, and pass out of this place as the ultimate defenders of our freedom. You have made me proud. Carry on making me proud. You are marines!"

* * * * *

This is our last night on the island. Our passing out parade was this afternoon, and saw 1181-Charlie-Alpha win the Gold Sabre for best platoon in the draft. We leave here in seven hours for two days leave, before joining up with our units. For me, it is 2nd Battalion, 131st Marine Infantry Regiment. Where this will take me, I don't know. All I do know is that it will be off planet. My orders say I have to report to the holding depot at Guantanamo Bay for transport, with the rest of my battalion, to the Plymouth Orbital Passenger Terminal.

Still, I have two days with Olivia to look forward to. I'm going to take her to Cuba; that way, we can spend as much time together as possible before I have to report in. seeing her today after so long made me realise just how much she means to me. So I've come to the decision that I want to marry her. It's kind of funny - it took me doing this to make me realise I wanted that.

* * * * *

Captain Lapotaire sat at his desk, reading his orders for the third time. As he did so, one part of his brain remonstrated with him for going through the document again. But the other part could not help it, because the words were steadfastly refusing to register. He knew that the Normandie was being converted for troops, but until now, he had thought it was to take them to Cardassia Prime, allowing one of the Midway class vessels to be moved to the Nitevma Uohst situation. Now though, his orders told him that the Normandie, together with the cargo ship SS Virginia, would be transporting the UFMC's 1st Marine Army Corps to Nitevma Uohst. Of course, he should have guessed in the first place - why else would the liner receive the upgrades she had had to her sensors and deflectors if she weren't going into a war zone? Lapotaire sat up straight and looked at the picture on the bulkhead opposite - a picture of the vessel his ship was named for, the ocean going thoroughbred of the 20th century. That ship never had the opportunity to serve in time of war, struck down as she was. 'We will not disgrace this name', vowed Lapotaire silently. He also allowed himself a wry smile that Captain Pearson and the United States was still on the Eart-Bajor run, while the Normandie was being allowed to do what she was primarily built to do; carry as many troops as quickly as possible to where they were needed.

"Commander Drival," Lapotaire said into his intercom, "have the senior staff report to my day cabin."

* * * * *

The Normandie, having taken aboard all of its troops, slipped quietly away from Earth on the tail end of convoy AR-1191, half a dozen cargo ships bound for Arak V, in Cardassian space. As far as anybody knew, the Normandie was taking troops to relieve the Klingon garrison there. For that reason, nobody questioned the lack of escort. If anybody did, they may have wondered why a ship carrying only troops and no heavy equipment was setting out. The answer came once the liner altered course away from the rest of the convoy after it had gone to warp. Three hours after its departure, the Normandie emerged from warp into a crowd of ships, including its stable mate, the Virginia, which had left with the heavy equipment two days previously, plus a squadron of escorting starships - a pair of Deneva class freighters with the remainder of 1st Marine Army Corps, the Colossus class carrier Courageous, the Excelsior class Dreadnought, a pair of Sequoia class cruisers, the Vostok and Soyuz, and the engineering support vessel Lutzow, accompanied by its own escort, the Graf Zeppelin. The starships immediately formed up around the two big vessels, before setting a course towards the Golden Quadrant and departing at high warp.

* * * * *

I never thought I'd be able to write about taking a trip on the Normandie. It's now something I can legitimately tell people, even if I am having to share a stateroom with seven other guys. We're lucky though - at least we are in a stateroom, instead of the makeshift barracks that are set up in the cargo holds. They are huge, and there are bunks as far as the eye can see. I wouldn't want to guess how many men are aboard. I think that tells us where we are going, even without the heavy escort. We're going to Nitevma Uohst; we're going to war. I figured that we'd be unlikely to get out of it. It was what Olivia was afraid of - she didn't say it, but I could see it in her eyes when we said goodbye to each other in Cuba. I didn't ask her to marry me then; instead I just gave her the ring that my great-grandfather gave to my grandfather, who gave it to my father, who gave it to me, and told her that I'd have to come back for it, so that I can give it to our son when he joins the marines. That made her laugh. I was right when I said basic training had changed me, but I think it's changed me for the better. No, on second thoughts, it has changed me for the better. Can I say the same for the experiences that I'm about to face? We'll just have to wait and see.